Ronon Dex, John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, Elizabeth Weir, Rodney McKay,
Dr. Carson Beckett, Col. Steven Caldwell
Maggie “Jax” Jackson
Special appearances by:
Dr. Zelenka, Lt. Laura Cadman, Dr. Kate Heightmeyer
~ FRUSTRATE ~
“Stop being a pain! Suck it up! Get your ass back over here, sit down, shut up and take off your shirt.”
Ronon Dex slides a look over his right shoulder, sending the small, annoying female his best death-stare. Her impudent right eyebrow raises and bottomless brown-black eyes match his glare-for-glare. She does not blink. She barely breathes. She waits.
Refusing to back down.
Tiny compared to him, at least two heads shorter; her slim yet buxom body not built for fighting; he could break her into small pieces, twist her long neck in a split second, crush her with one blow… yet she refuses to back down.
Is this typical of Earth women?
Living in Atlantis—The City of Ancestors—two weeks now, Ronon has met a handful of Earth’s female soldiers and scientists. They do not react to him in this manner.
His story well known: for the past seven years he survived as a Runner with a Wraith tracking device embedded deep in the tissue of his back, so near the spine, the Atlantis’s chief surgeon, Dr. Carson Beckett was reluctant to remove it while Ronon remained awake. Despite the implant, he stayed one step ahead of the Wraith on his trail.
Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and his team willfully helped him while they looked for a missing friend. But having never met anyone from Atlantis, Ronon was not the most cooperative patient—holding Teyla Emmagan by gunpoint and threatening to kill her—though, in the end, they all came to an understanding.
Now the stitches need removing and Ronon will be free of the Wraith—aside from the occasional killing spree he endeavors to take—and his past as a Runner.
He came to the infirmary expecting to find the little doctor with the strange way of speaking but found this… this warring Onihr'dlo instead. Though far more attractive than the large-snouted, spiky-spine beast that spits and wails while charging prey, the Earth woman is less amenable.
When Ronon grunted his disapproval about not finding Beckett and turned to leave, she cursed then howled at him.
Standing six-foot-five in Earth measurements, Ronon towers over most people. His height, speed, and muscle tend to intimidate folks without him saying a word.
Somehow, she knows what tone of voice raises the roots of his long hair, surging guilt through him for not complying in an instant. And that boils his blood.
Placing hands on hips, raising her arched brow higher, and pursing her plump lips, she slides her lower jaw to the side in a show of annoyance.
Stomping back, Ronon tears off his shirt and plops onto the gurney—the metal hinges squeak in protest—keeping his back to the haranguing female. Expecting harsh tugs on his injured skin, her feather-fingered touch shocks him; tickling his healing body. Only the snip-snip of scissors tells him she is working.
“Done,” she hisses. “Now get out.”
Grabbing his shirt and shaking her out of his head, Ronon clomps to the door where his guard awaits. With a last glance at the woman—cleaning up bright blue threads and stripping off surgical gloves—the strange, yet familiar feeling she stirred in him returns, stinging his heart.
Heading out the sliding doors, he growls to his ever-present shadow soldier. “Who is that woman?”
“Jax,” the shadow huffs.
“I would enjoy shooting her.”
“Get in line.”
Ronon darts his eyes to the other man. The soldier’s expression remains steadfast. Ronon nods in understanding: I am not alone in the suffering of this…Jax.